Assassin
by THE-EVIL-CLIFFIE
Summary: In the rising tension between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic, a young Sith Assassin must face the nature of both himself and the Force, and discover whether love really can redeem... Mostly OCs, minor canon characters.


**Author: **THE_EVIL_CLIFFIE  
**Timeframe:** Before, specifically just before/during the events of The Old Republic.  
**Characters:** Almost exclusively OCs, although minor/supporting characters from TOR will appear. I'll try to keep PCs out of the story, although my PCs may be mentioned later on.  
**Disclaimer:** You know this already: SW belongs to George Lucas, TOR's characters belong to EA/BioWare, etc.

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**313 Years after the end of the Jedi Civil War**  
**10 Years after the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant**

The valley of the Dark Lords was not a cheerful place at the best of times. Now, the sunset sent rays of yellow light racing up the cleft, turning the great ochre pyramid at the valley's head the colour of newly-spilt blood.

The valley did not throng like Dreshdae, but there were people there. Sith archaeologists, hoping to find some long-forgotten secret that had not already been found by previous archaeologists.

This was getting more difficult.

Apart from the bodies of the aforementioned archaeologists and grave robbers, of course.

Thran Lobin was not an archaeologist, and he was not here for ancient bodies. He took the view that that was the job of people too weak to be true Sith.

Thran stood in a makeshift dueling ring in the centre of the valley. The ring extended nearly to the sheer rock faces at the walls, curving round to the south as far as the north entrance to Ajunta Pall's tomb, curving up north to the end of the obsidian steps leading down from the ornate valley entrance of the pyramid.

Thran stood in the centre of the ring with four other apprentices, the strongest in his group.

Lord Illet stood in the centre of the ring, scarred hands clasped behind his back, the ancient red-and black Sith tattoos on his skin, combined with his Zabrak's horns, gave him a menacing appearance in the light of Korriban's dying sun.

"Acolytes," he said, his low voice cutting through the air of the valley like a lightsaber through flesh. "You stand here, in the valley that has been our leaders' final resting place for thousands of years, to face a choice. You are the most promising scions of the Sith academy, and, as such, you face a choice.

"You may choose to become warriors. If you do this, you will stay here until your training is complete, and then you will be sent out with the Sith army. You will be the Emperor's durasteel fist, you will command platoons, companies, batallions, maybe even regiments of soldiers. You will be the empire's finest soldiers, spies, assassins, maybe teachers here, if you survive long enough."

A smile played on the Zabrak's lips. He was, in a way, surmising his own journey to power.

"If, however, the way of the warrior is not enough, there is another choice. For those who are strong enough, there is greatness to be achieved. He who takes this path will never be able to trust anyone; he will spend every day wondering which one of his enemies will try to kill him. He will never achieve happiness or contentment. This is the path of the Sith master. If you choose this path, you will command not regiments, but _legions_. The men who bow to you will be in their myriads. Power unimaginable will be yours to command."

Lord Illet smiled, his amusement at the acolyte's eagerness undisguised this time. He took a breath.

"There is, however, a test. Those who wish to be a warrior in the Sith armies army may step outside this ring at any time. Those, who wish to apprentice themselves to a master, however, will have to fight the others."

Lasniira started. The red Twi'lek had had herself tattooed with the black tattoos as soon as she had been afforded the privilege. She had gotten it early, by performing… services for the masters. She preferred to get what she wanted without fighting, because she was so much better at other things.

She had gone with Thran one night, to try and make him fall in love with her. It hadn't worked. Thran was not gullible, and knew the elimination of an opponent when he saw it. Lasniira was not nearly as strong with a lightsaber as the other acolytes, but she _was_ good at distracting them. If she was smart, she would back out now and train more with Master Illet.

Unfortunately, Lasniira never knew when to back down from a challenge, and she could never resist the lure of power.

Thran counted twenty of the thirty Acolytes leaving the ring. They knew they couldn't win, or maybe they were waiting for the strongest to be exhausted to move in. There was no shame in that. Duplicity was to be admired, in those not strong enough to take what they wanted by force.

Tran stayed. He knew he was strong, and he was intelligent, both good qualities in a Sith master. He would fight.

The ten who stayed were Thran, Lasniira, Opulaka the aqualish, Inbra, a Rodian who was only here because of his mistaken belief in his own abilities, Krresh, a Trandoshan who was as subtle as a Baradium missile, Taalwaar, a massive Wookie who cared little for words and needed diplomacy even less, Narin, a human, Halden, a Devaronian who had been raised on Korriban, Linat, a blood carver with enough subtlety to make up for Krresh and Taalwaar together, but was also no slouch with a lightsaber.

Last in Thran's cataloguing came Kirinarthis, a Sith-raised Noghri. They'd never seen him in the communal classes. Not for him the vicious, back-stabbing politics of position and favour, of power and leverage, where everything was a test and those who failed bled out on the temple steps. No. He had been singled out as soon as he had arrived on Korriban, taken to the inner sanctum at the temple-pyramid's tip, and trained in the ways of the Emperor's Guard. This, it seemed, was his final test. To kill them all, and thus prove his worth to the Sith Empire.

Lord Illet spoke again.

"Any may enter or leave the ring at any time. Start."

Thran went for his lightsaber at the same time as everyone else, except Kirinarthis. _He_ jumped high, landing on Inbra's back and snapping the rodian's neck with a deft movement.

Thran sidestepped to avoid the sweep of Opulaka's double-bladed lightsaber, spinning round him to bring his own weapon into a roundhouse cut. He felt a push of the force, like the herald of a greater wave. He shielded against it, but not enough to avoid being thrown on his face in the dust. He pushed gently against the ground, thus pushing himself upright. The itch of danger-sense exploded over his back, causing him to take the only option available.

He threw his power out behind him desperately, hoping at least to make Opulaka stumble. There was a curse, and danger-sense played across his back again.

Unfortunately for the aqualish, Thran had a split second to collect himself, which was all he needed.

He spun around, a force-shove sending Opulaka's lightsaber spinnng from his weakened grasp. Thran took a step forward, kicking Opulaka in the face. He caught the aqualish with the force and lifted him up, the dark side flowing through him now. Opulaka struggled against the invisible vice that held his throat, eyes goggling so much they looked like they would pop out. Thran drunk in the aqualish's terror, his fear and despair. Opulaka knew he wasn't going to live more that thirty seconds, and his mouth-tusks retracted and extended in panic. Thran smiled.

Thran threw Opulaka into Taalwaar's chest, the wookie's lightsabers scissoring through the aqualish, when they had been intended for Kirinarthis. The noghri dodged out of the way and backflipped, his short saber slicing through Taalwaar's shaggy black hair, leaving a cleft in the wookiee's upper torso. Both wookiee and aqualish fell to the ground, dead.

There was a pause, as the apprentices savoured the death here. Of the original contestants, only Thran, Lasniira, Kirinarthis and Narin remained.

Lord Illet chuckled. As if that small, low sound had galvanized them, all four Sith jumped.

Kirinarthis leapt towards Narin, and the man barely managed to duck in time, just avoiding Kirinarthis's blade slicing the top off his shaven head.

Thran and Lasniira jumped towards the battling Sith, their lightsabers scissoring across, barely missing Kirinarthis and cutting Narin in half.

Kirinarthis growled. The noghri leapt high, coming down with a shriek. Thran threw himself backwards, but not quickly enough. Hot pain lanced through his leg as the razor-edged blade on one of Kirinarthis's boots sliced through the skin and muscle of his foreleg. His lightsaber flew out of his hand, pulled into Kirinarthis's scarlet blade.

Thran stumbled, helpless, as the noghri brought his saber across to end Thran's life. Thran saw, through the ruby blur of pain and light, Lasniira charging at the noghri, lightsaber held above her head.

Kirinarthis spun, his saber whipping through Lasniira's left leg. She screamed and fell to the ground. Thran desperately tried to pull her lightsaber from her grip, but she clutched at it in the way of people in extreme pain.

Kirinarthis turned slowly, a smile on his vicious lips. He took a breath.

"You will die here, Thran Lobin." The Noghri stalked forward across the sand. "I will become a Lord, and I will be mighty. I will stand at the Emperor's side on Dromund Kaas. But first, human, you will die. In an interesting fashion."

Lasniira, spasming from pain, finally relaxed her grip on the lightsaber. Thran pulled it forward with the Force, his desperation giving him strength.

It jumped, the ruby blade sliding from the housing with a beautiful _snap-hiss_ the saber landed on Kirinarthis's back, igniting through his body. The noghri gasped in disbelief.

Thran smiled.

"It was not my destiny to die here."

Thran raised his hand, the lightsaber falling from Kirinarthis's back onto the dusty ground.

Thran exerted the merest _twitch_, and Kirinarthis's body jerked, a sharp _crunch_ the only sound as the noghri's vertebrae came apart. Thran smiled, drew on the noghri's pain, and that of Lasniira, then threw Kirinarthis up towards the pyramid. The noghri bounced off the obsidian paving, shattered the door of dark glass, then impacted with the central statue of the Emperor, severely startling the party of seperatists from Ord Mantell.

Thran slowly stood. He pulled Lasniira up with the force, savouring the fear and panic in her eyes. There was only one way this could go now. She whimpered.

"Thran, please..."

He summoned her lightsaber to his hand.

"_Please,_ Thran."

He smiled.

"Don't you remember that night, _please_ remember Thran, what have I ever done to you?"

She fell to her knee, holding herself up with her hand.

"_Please,_ Thran, have_ mercy_!"

He smiled, pulled her up, and kissed her. The tension in her lips melted at the touch.

He drew back, still smiling.

"Mercy is not the way of the Sith."

He ignited the saber, watched her shock as the ruby blade speared through her abdomen. He let her drop. The dirt and sand of the valley floor stuck to her cold, sweaty red skin, and her eyes gazed up at the sky in shock, betrayal and horror. She gurgled once, twitched, and was gone.

Lord Illet chuckled.

"Thran Lobin" he said, his voice low. Than turned, and fell to his knees, the correct position for those being addressed personally by a Lord of the Sith. He kept his blade ignited in a guard before him. Even now, any of the thirty students at the outside of the ring could kill him, and take his place. "You have proved yourself to be a true Sith. Go now to the training room. Your new master will test you there."

Thran nodded and obeyed, turning to the blood-red temple, its colour reflecting the events of the past minutes, the bodies of the acolytes behind him joining the ranks of dead Sith in the valley.

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Please read, review and offer (constructive) criticism. This may not be updated regularly, but I will try to keep going on it.


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